


(Day 3) You Can Find One There

by mydwynter



Series: January Sherlock Vignette Challenge [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, I dare you not to sing Jonathan Coulton all day, IKEA, unknown minor character death, well this is just getting silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:51:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/pseuds/mydwynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The click of heels precisely followed the path of blue arrows until their owner encountered Sally Donovan examining a machined-aluminium candlestick holder.</i>
</p><p>Mycroft's assistant has a job for Sally she really can't refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Day 3) You Can Find One There

**Author's Note:**

> My mind rebels in stagnation. So every day for the month of January I'm posting a Sherlock vignette, born out of prompts from generators and friends alike.
> 
> Also known as, "Mydwynter, stop singing and post it."
> 
> Today's prompt courtesy of (and blamed on) HiddenLacuna: Sally, Anthea, bonding over bosses, IKEA, deathfic  
> Thanks to Mazarin221B and HiddenLacuna for the beta and the hilarious conversations.

The click of heels precisely followed the path of blue arrows until their owner encountered Sally Donovan examining a machined-aluminium candlestick holder.

"Ms Donovan," the well-dressed woman spoke, and didn't so much as twitch when Sally jumped and brought the candlestick up as a guard between them. The woman finished typing something into her mobile then secreted it away.

"Oh. It's you," Sally sagged. "What has he done this time."

A smile played about the corners of the woman's mouth but never quite coalesced. "Neither of our employers has 'done' anything." The smile gave an extra push to break through, but ultimately failed. "Fortunately."

"Then…to what do I owe the honour of this, er, visit?" Sally put the candlestick down on an impeccably-decorated expanse of tabletop with a soft clunk and peered at the other woman, head tilted.

The woman briefly looked uncomfortable before she cleared her throat and stood up straight, if not tall. "This isn't a social engagement." Sally snorted, presumably at the implication that _any_ of this woman's visits could be considered social. "My employer is in need of your services."

"Mycroft Holmes needs _me_? What for?"

"There's been…an incident. We would like your aid in preventing…embarrassment."

Sally peered at her. "And you're asking on behalf of my _government_."

"Of course," the woman replied.

Sally blew out a slow breath and looked around at the other shoppers. Along with the smell of leather and pine, it smelled vaguely of cinnamon. She wondered if they purposefully piped it up from the snack area near the registers. Then her brain snapped back into focus. "Doesn't seem likely I'll be able to refuse, now, does it."

The woman gave her a wan, humourless smile. "No, it does not."

They decamped to a cozy breakfast nook in the corner of a living area, and the woman looked daggers at anyone who came near. Consequently, Sally was debriefed in relative peace.

A special agent called Billy Malm had been working undercover in Sweden for several years when they had lost contact with him. The last missive he had sent indicated he was ready to execute his orders to take down a baron who was illegally controlling the area's supply of luan. ( _"Luan?!"_ Sally said, but the woman pushed on without answering.) Then he disappeared, and through a bit of careful espionage it was determined that he had been murdered and his body dismembered, and the perpetrators had processed him as only they knew how; somewhere in the self-service furniture area a dead agent had been flat-packed and sent on to the marketplace.

Sally looked horrified. "So someone could have bought him already, and taken him home?"

With a bemused look, the woman smirked lightly. "Don't you think we'd know if that had happened?"

"I don't know…" Sally said with a shrug, "You _are_ asking for my help."

"He's been secured." The woman's smirk somehow lacked humour, but as if to provide some strange sort of evidence she produced from her pocket a golf pencil and a little card with a string of numbers written on it.

Sally appeared unsettled by the sight. "So what do you need me for?"

The woman's eyes flicked sideways and watched a couple examine some bookshelves. She very nearly looked sheepish. "Our usual methods are less covert than we would like. It’s a busy shopping area, and too many people would notice if our agents came in for a clean up job." Sally suddenly looked horrified, and the woman's eyes snapped to her face. "No, we don't need that from you. That is being taken care of. No…" she said, looking away once more to sweep the area, "We need to get the body out of the building and to our base of operations without anyone suspecting."

Sally's eyes narrowed. "How, exactly, do you plan on getting the body out of the building?"

The woman's eyes opened wide and guileless. "I will purchase him, of course. It should be extremely simple."

"So? What do you need me for, if you've already 'secured' the body and have a plan to get it out?"

The seconds dragged as the woman kept Sally waiting for an answer. She tucked away first the card, then the pencil, then sat back to retrieve a mobile from some pocket or other and typed at it, thumbs a blur. "Ms Donovan," she said, and gave Sally that wry, joyless smirk once more. "I'm afraid I require your assistance strapping the package to the roof of my Astin."


End file.
